


Friends With Benefits

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Community: daily_deviant, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, First Time, Ghosts, HP: EWE, Humor, Moaning Myrtle - character, PostWar, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody should spend eternity alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends With Benefits

"You have to be _shitting_ me!" Draco shouted, hanging over the balustrade and staring at the body on the polished marble on the floor below. When he found the house-elf that had left a window open enough for one of those damned peacocks to fly in and startle a man who was still half-asleep, he was going to flay it from toes to ears. He couldn't quite remember the sequence of events, but it had gone something like yawn - wings - squawk - stumble - _shriek_ \- thud. Draco glared. "You're a Seeker, you bastard. Couldn't have reacted just a little quicker? Yes, yes, you have problems with huge feathery things in your face, but for _fuck's_ sake."

The only response was a house-elf scurrying towards the stairs with a tea tray. "Mistress is wantings tea, oh yes, Mistress is sayings not to appearings so sudden, oh no. Vaty is climbings the stairs, so many sta-- Master?" Draco watched, arms folded and lips pressed tight together as Vaty approached the body, the tea cup rattling in its saucer as her thin hands trembled. "Master? Is Master nappings? Master should not beings nappings on the floor, is beings quite cold and--"

Her scream echoed off the walls. Draco huffed. "About time someone noticed."

\---

 _Billionaire heir to the family fortune and pardoned former Death Eater Draco Malfoy was found dead this morning at his home in Wiltshire. No foul play is suspected, and preliminary reports indicate the cause of death was a broken neck. Further details as they arrive, and now here's Celestina Warbeck with her latest hit._

\---

Draco skulked around the Manor, bored out of his skull. The afterlife was no life at all. He'd spent three weeks sulking after his funeral, as the only people in attendance had been his parents, Pansy, and Greg, who had caused quite a scene with a sobbing confession that he'd always been in love with Draco. Narcissa had fainted and nearly fallen into the grave. Draco thought about haunting Greg for that, but after popping into Greg's flat and seeing the _shrine_ in the man's bedroom, he thought it was best not to give Greg any ideas about love returning from beyond the veil.

Exploring the Manor was about all the fun he had, though he always had to check before entering a room. His mother had developed a rather alarming twitch whenever she caught sight of him, and Draco had given up on speaking to her after his father had to sedate her four nights running.

Draco floated through the wall and into the gardens at the rear of the house. This was all bollocks, he decided. Lived through the war, skipped out of prison, and where did he end up? Face down and chest up on the floor. He'd _planned_ to die in bed with a big-titted brunette bouncing on his cock. Instead, the closest he'd got to anyone's tits was the one grope Pansy had let him get in at the Yule Ball when they were fourteen, and even the most generous estimate wouldn't call those big. Draco considered it absolutely unjust that he'd died a virgin, despite what Greg had blubbered at the funeral.

He haunted the cherry orchard for an hour, muttering to himself. He was bored, he was dead, and he still hadn't managed to find that fucking peacock for a little revenge.

Indulging in his sullen complaints kept him from noticing the other ghostly figure for several minutes, and when he did, he fell over from the surprise. He still hadn't quite learned to control his spirit form and falling over meant falling into an ancient bench. He growled and pulled his arms out of the stone, then turned to face the other ghost. "What the hell are you giggling at?"

"Nothing," the ghost said, still giggling. "Oh, don't sulk, young man. Everyone goes through that. It's all part of the process. Tripping over yourself, voice doing funny things. It's perfectly normal."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. Wonderful. Ghost puberty. The things no one alive bothered to mention. Now he regretted never asking Binns a few questions about the spirit world. "What do you want?" he asked, nose wrinkled.

Thoe ghost cleared his throat and produced a shimmering scroll. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington cordially invites you to attend his Deathday party in the Hogwarts dungeons on the thirty-first of October."

"A Deathday party." Draco drew his legs up and sat cross-legged in the air over the stone bench. "You must be joking."

"No, no, it's all on the level. The spirit level," the ghost said and sniggered. When Draco didn't laugh, he grunted and continued. "All the British ghosts are invited. It's generally quite amusing, though there was a bit of a crunch for space a few years ago. So many new faces."

Draco looked away, rubbing his left arm. Yes, he imagined there were quite a few new ghosts at the end of the war. He brightened for a moment, thinking he might see Vince again, then sank onto - and into - the stone bench as he made a face. There were plenty of dead he most definitely didn't want to see, and Bellatrix was tops of that list. "I'll think about it," he said.

"Good," the other ghost said, fading away with a twinkle. "Besides, what else do you have to do?"

\---

Draco determined one of the disquieting things about being a ghost, besides the whole "you're dead" thing, was that he was going to spend eternity in the clothes he'd been wearing when he plummeted over the balustrade. If he'd known it would be the last thing he'd be wearing for the rest of his afterlife, he would have dressed before he left his room. As it was, he was grateful ghosts couldn't get cold. He wandered the spirit world in bare feet, loose pyjama bottoms, and a practice jersey from the last year he'd played Quidditch. Draco wasn't sure if he was more irritated that the jersey was a little tight or that his pyjamas had a hole in the crotch. "Couldn't have died in a suit," he muttered as he floated across the courtyard at Hogwarts. He sank through the flagstones into the dungeons. "Or a nice jumper. Robes, even. No. Had to die in your jammies, you twat."

"At least you have clothes." The voice grumbled behind him and Draco turned to see a half-naked wizard. He raised a brow. More accurately, half a naked wizard. From the waist down, the ghost was just translucent smoke, and Draco said a silent prayer of thankfulness for that. The top half was practically furry. "Could have slipped out of the bath, young man, so don't you whinge."

The ghost looked him up and down, then sniffed. "You're new. Fresh dead?"

"Few months," Draco said with a shrug. It was an odd question, but it was conversation of a sort. He hated to admit it, but someone to talk to was something he'd missed. "And you?"

"Three hundred years."

Draco stumbled and had to pull himself out of the wall at the matter-of-fact tone from the other ghost. He knew the ghosts in Hogwarts were often centuries old, but this was the first time he'd confronted the realization that he might be joining their ranks. He huffed and straightened his shoulders. That would give him plenty of time to find that damned bird.

He floated down through the dungeons with the half-ghost. More ghosts passed them, all heading the same direction. The half-ghost stopped outside a stone niche coated with thick cobwebs. "Word of advice, junior. Don't piss off the Baron, and, er." He looked Draco over again and snickered. "And watch yourself around the nuns."

He disappeared through the niche. Draco took a deep breath, grimaced when he remembered he didn't need to breathe, and followed.

\---

The cavernous dungeon was packed with ghosts, all chattering and floating through each other. Draco recognized a few here and there, ones he'd seen when he was a student. He nodded to the Friar, bowed to the Grey Lady, and avoided the Baron. The long table in the center of the room, loaded down with moldy cakes and rotting meats, caught his attention for a few minutes, but after he tried picking up a few green biscuits and failed, he gave up and floated to a corner.

"I remember you," said a nasal voice near his ankles, and Draco looked down to see Myrtle curled up on the floor. She rose to his level and gave him a watery look. "You stopped coming to visit me. I thought we were friends."

Draco flinched at the accusatory tone. "I know. Things got a little ... busy. I-I meant to come back."

Myrtle ducked her head and pulled at a lock of her hair. "They all say that. You were different, I thought. You talked to me. You knew what it was like to be bullied and teased." She sniffed and pushed her glasses up with two fingers. "Was it that other boy? Harry? Was it him?"

Draco stared at her. "What?"

"How you died."

Draco sighed. Apparently every ghost in the world was obsessed with death. Made sense, he supposed, but how dull. "Does this--" he gestured at his jersey and pyjamas "--look like what I was wearing that day? No." He shook his head and folded his arms, leaning against the wall. A little concentration kept him from sinking into it. "I fell. Broke my neck."

Myrtle looked him over and floated closer, until her shoulder was intersecting his. "Will you be coming back now? To visit me? Now that you're dead, I mean. You don't have many other places to go, probably."

Draco chewed on his lip, watching the party guests. Several men carrying their heads under their arms were laughing with a trio of witches in bloodstained pinafores. Peeves danced on thin air near the ceiling, juggling spiders. "She's not here," he muttered.

Beside him, Myrtle stiffened. "Who?" she asked, in a thin voice.

"Bella." Draco scanned the crowd looking for a tall witch with crazy hair and crazier eyes. "My aunt. She's not here."

Myrtle tugged at her hair, the lank strands running through the fingers. "She probably wasn't afraid to die."

Draco blinked. He turned to look at Myrtle, who brightened at getting his full attention. "Didn't you know that? That's the secret. That's what makes a ghost. Being afraid to die. That's why you're a ghost. I remember. You'd come to my bathroom and you'd tell me. You were afraid. You were scared to die. You'd tell me about it." She reached out to brush his cheek. "And you'd cry."

Draco jerked back. "Don't touch me!" Myrtle's words echoed through his head as his shout echoed off the walls. He didn't notice the nearby ghosts turning to stare or Myrtle's startled expression. "I'm not afraid! I'm not! I wasn't afraid to die. I _fell_. It was an accident. I wasn't scared! I didn't even know it was coming!"

"You were before," Myrtle said. Her eyes shimmered behind the thick lenses of her glasses. "You were scared before. When we talked. When we were friends."

"We weren't _friends_ ," Draco hissed. "You were just someone to talk to. You were just _there_. We're not friends."

Myrtle stared at him, her lips trembling, then burst into a wail and fled through the ceiling. Several ghosts glared at Draco; several muttered to each other. The Baron floated through the banquet table and eyed Draco. "You," he said, his chin raised and his eyes narrowed, "are a very unpleasant young man. Eternity's going to be quite lonely if you keep this up."

\---

Myrtle was bound to the school, Draco recalled from their talks his sixth year. That should make it easier to find her. He started his search in her bathroom, then moved to the others, popping through walls and ceilings. He wasn't sure why he wanted to find her. Some sort of lingering remnant of companionship, maybe? He had no idea. It couldn't be guilt, he was sure of that. Just because she'd reminded him of something he didn't like to think about, of a year when he'd been terrified and she'd been the only person he could talk to, didn't mean he'd have to feel a little - especially a _lot_ \- guilty over upsetting her.

He lifted his head when he heard shrieks and saw two girls running down the corridor. Wet footprints and dissolving bubbles marked their trail back to an open door. Draco peeked in, recognizing the prefect's bath. He'd made good use of it his fifth year, but he'd never piled the tub with mountains of bubbles. As he watched, Myrtle swooped up through the bubbles, hovered near the mermaid sleeping in her window, and dove back into the water with a warbling shriek.

Draco edged into the bathroom and fidgeted at the edge of the giant tub. "Myrtle," he said. His voice seemed weak and thin, and he coughed. "Myrtle," he called. This time her name bounced off the tiles in the room and the stained-glass mermaid opened her eyes with a disgruntled sound. She blinked lazily at him, then shook her head and went back to sleep.

Draco looked down to see Myrtle peering at him through an opening in the bubbles. She raised up until the water licked at her chin. "Go away."

"Myrtle, c'mon." Draco knelt on the edge of the tub, ignoring the way his toes sank into the tiles. "I just want to talk to you."

She gave a hollow laugh, made eerie by the gurgle of the water. "Right," she said. "You're a liar. Stupid lying boy. You didn't want to talk to me. You don't want to be friends. You don't _like_ me. I thought you were different." She pushed away from him, floating through the water to the middle of the tub, her voice reverberating in sad little bursts. "Just another boy. We talked and talked before, and I thought you were _nice_ , and I thought we were _friends_ , which was good, because I don't have any and you didn't have any, so we could have been each other's."

Draco stretched out one hand. "Myrtle, I didn't mean--"

"You did!" she cried. She spun in the water, forming a whirlpool. Draco watched, his mouth agape, as the bubbles and water swirled. "You're not my friend. You don't _care_. You don't care about anyone but yourself and you're a liar!" She spun faster, shrieking until her words blurred together into one high-pitched screech.

Draco cowered, his hands flung over his head as Myrtle burst from the tub. Water soaked the tiles around him and left him kneeling alone in the center of a shallow, frothing lake. He looked up to the mermaid, who gave him a look of deep loathing and flicked her tail with a derisive huff. "Serves you right."

\---

His parents shut up the Manor for the holidays and went away. Draco wandered the rooms and corridors, alone. He went to Hogwarts once or twice, but the house ghosts and other spirits had all heard about the incident at the Deathday party. They spoke to him politely, but curtly, and the only one who seemed to have time for him was Peeves. Draco didn't like the idea that the single spirit willing to talk to him was ... was....

Was an absolute arse.

Draco made a face as he sat in the bare branches of a cherry tree. Peeves, an annoying, irritating poltergeist, was the only ghost who could stand him. That didn't speak well of him.

He couldn't get Myrtle's words out of his head, couldn't stop picturing her face. She'd been kind to him when he'd needed it. She'd given him a quiet support when he'd been alone. She'd been a friend.

Draco sighed and sank out of the tree to float through the empty orchard and into the silent house. It wasn't true, he told himself as he hovered in front of a family portrait. His mother and father stood with their arms around each other, their free hands each resting on one of Draco's shoulders. Draco stared at the painting, his vision blurring. It wasn't true. He _could_ care about someone other than himself.

He hadn't proved it with Myrtle, and he felt horrible about that. It wasn't her fault she'd reminded him of his fears, accidentally forced him to face the very reason he'd been shunted to this ghostly afterlife. She'd done what a friend should do. She'd told the truth. She'd cared enough to do that.

Draco straightened his shoulders and tugged the hem of his jersey. He could care enough to be her friend in return. He could. He _would_. No one deserved to spend eternity alone.

\---

It took him several months to realize that he didn't actually know what to do. Lackeys, certainly; minions, sure. Friends? Draco didn't have the slightest clue how to go about that. There was nothing in the Manor's library about making friends, even though he went through every book after convincing Vaty to turn pages for him. He lurked around the local village, watching the people in their efforts to make connections and friends, listening in on conversations both private and public. A few ideas sank into his mind, and he started visiting Hogwarts on a regular basis. He didn't seek out Myrtle. He stayed in the library, working through a few particular sections with the help of a house-elf who carried books for him.

In midsummer, the house-elf squeaked and dropped an armload of books when a ghost rose through the floor like a firework. "What are you _doing_?" Myrtle shrieked at Draco, arms akimbo. "What do you want? I told you to go away."

Draco dismissed the house-elf and faced Myrtle across the narrow aisle. "I'm doing research," he said calmly.

"On what? How to be a liar? You're already good at that."

"No." Draco floated down the aisle, pointing to books as he went. "Orrery's Oscillating Orbits. Constance's Constellations. They're all rather fascinating."

Myrtle followed him slowly, her brows furrowed. "Astronomy." She touched the spine of one book, almost caressing the ancient leather. "My favorite subject. Why are you reading up on it?"

"That's why," Draco said. "It's your favorite. Your name is in all of these." He turned to face Myrtle.

Her eyes had narrowed and she floated with her arms curled around her torso. "Yeah?" Her voice held a challenge, but her posture seemed defensive. She chewed on her lip for a moment, then straightened and peered at him down her nose. "So? Why do you care?"

"Because--" Draco hesititated before reaching out to touch Myrtle's shoulder. Ghosts could feel ghosts, he'd learned since his death. They could touch each other when they couldn't touch the living. Myrtle flinched but didn't pull away. "Because friends share interests."

"We're not friends," she whispered. "You said so."

"I wasn't a friend," Draco corrected. "You were. You were a good friend, Myrtle. I'm.... I was an arse to you, and I'm--" It took him a minute to get the words out. He rarely said this to anyone in life, and death didn't make it easier. "I'm sorry."

Myrtle wrinkled her nose and fidgeted, floating a few inches up to be on eye level with Draco. "Don't know if I should believe you."

Draco patted her shoulder carefully. "You wouldn't be the first. Just give me a chance. I really want to try, Myrtle. I really want to make up for what I said. I want to try."

\---

He came back for visits; she welcomed him in. Myrtle showed him all the secrets of Hogwarts, all the quiet and hidden places she'd discovered over the years she'd haunted the castle. They watched the firsties crossing the lake in rickety boats with Hagrid bawling at them from behind his lantern. They giggled as students melted cauldrons in the Potions lab and fought with plants in the Herbology greenhouse. She showed him all the secretive places where young wizards and young witches would sneak off for a moment alone.

Draco found those the most fascinating, he had to admit. He'd never thought that he'd find amusement in being a voyeur, but as a ghost, he supposed that was all he could do. Watching was the only capability he had, and he watched. Myrtle hovered next to him, her ghostly form trembling with excitement as they stared at students in shadowed niches, dark stairwells, and dusty alcoves.

"He's not going to get anywhere," she whispered to him as they watched one couple kissing against a desk in an empty classroom. The boy's hands kept slipping into the girl's robes, and she kept pushing him away.

Draco leaned closer to Myrtle, brow raised and eyes locked on the young couple. "Why? What's he doing wrong?"

"She wants to kiss," Myrtle replied. "He has to give her that before she'll give him what he wants. It's a simple case of cause and effect."

Draco snorted. "I find it difficult to believe you know that much about-- go for it, mate!" he muttered as the boy slipped one hand around and low to grip the girl's arse through her robes. She let him, and Draco made a soft, triumphant noise. The sound startled the two students and they ran off with shrieks. Draco swore and floated down to sprawl across the desk. "Dammit. Can't do it myself, can't even watch. Being dead is bollocks."

"Can so," Myrtle said, hovering over him, nose to nose.

Draco blinked. "Say again?"

"Can do it yourself," she said, grinning at him. She took her glasses off and slipped them into a pocket of her robes. She brushed her fingers down his face as he stared at her in confusion. "Ghosts can touch each other, remember?"

Draco went still as her hand slipped down his chest to splay across his stomach. "Um. Myrtle. What-what are you doing?" If he'd still been alive, his throat would have gone completely dry. As it was, the words emerged in a whisper. He couldn't decide what was more surprising: Myrtle very obviously hitting on him, or his body very obviously reacting. He could see straight down her blouse from this position, and apparently it was a nice view. His cock certainly thought so.

"Um. Er. This. You. What." Draco closed his eyes and stifled a groan as her fingers brushed over his hips. "Isn't this ... I mean, no blood flow. Kind of. Difficult? How can _fuck_!" He sank into the desk, yelping, when he felt her hands on his cock. _Felt_ them.

He struggled back up to the surface of the desk and Myrtle giggled at him. "Ectoplasm. Do you like it?"

She stroked him, fingers brushing the length of his shaft and down to cup his bollocks. Myrtle straddled him, her thighs cradling his hips and her hands working in tandem, one on his cock and one between her thighs. Draco gulped and swallowed and finally spit it out. "I don't know what to do here," he muttered, glad ghosts couldn't blush.

"I do." Myrtle wriggled on him and Draco groaned. All right, he was dead already, but she was brunette and she did have big tits. Two out of three wasn't bad. He reached up and pulled her down.


End file.
